Recipe for a Crappy Romance Novel
by Morglay
Summary: Rose takes a gap-year to work in a prep-school for wealthy wizards too young to attend Hogwarts. Whilst there, she leans a lot about herself - and about a certain Scorpius Malfoy.


**Chapter One**

It was an uncharacteristically clear morning in early September when Rose Granger-Weasley left the buzzing streets of summer London for a small town in the south-west of England, little known for its boundless hills so much as its timeless presence, which just so happened to possess the closest muggle railway station to her newfound job. It had been necessary, or so Rose had been told, to arrange for a taxi to be present upon arrival - for Mattendar House, being located in a muggle-built manor house, was unreachable by the floo network.

This was to be her new way of life for the subsequent year. Living without magic. Despite doing passably well in her NEWTs, Rose had not achieved quite the grades she felt herself capable of, and therefore failed to secure a job at the Ministry of Magic. Quite some debate with her parents had ensued. Upon finding out Rose's results, they had begun frantically pulling strings to get her some job at the Ministry, quite without her consent.

Rose was not her mother. But, she was her mother's daughter. And though Rose inherited her father's laid-back disposition alongside her mother's brains, she had also inherited Hermione's stubbornness. And so, they formed a compromise. Rose would take an unplanned gap year, working for the duration of it, and re-sit her NEWTs in the summer. If she failed to improve her grades, she would find another job, having had a year to reflect on what exactly she wanted to do.

'He who can, does. He who cannot, teaches.' Inspired by Shaw's long-adapted idiom, Rose melancholically applied for a number gap year placements at boarding schools across the country, and accepted the first offer she received. Mattendar House was an all-boy prep school for young wizards in the middle of nowhere, or more specifically lost amongst the hills of the West Country, that catered from the ages of seven to eleven inclusively. It seemed to her a remnant of the old muggle ways; days typically commenced with an early-morning choir practice for those afflicted with a fine voice, a meagre breakfast followed by an assembly of a somewhat religious nature, innumerous hours of academic learning and several hours of exercise (or rather 'games' as they were called at Mattendar) – rugby in the Autumn term, hockey in the Spring, and Cricket in the Summer. This did not cease at the weekends; Saturday consisted of lessons as much as any weekday, with matches against muggle schools in the afternoons, and Sunday was largely devoted to church service and independent study. It sounded like military hell. Nevertheless, it was still a job, and would provide her with the opportunity to study in an academic institution (however little time might remain after their regimental schedule) and to earn a small wage in addition to her living costs being taken care of.

However, one aspect of this life Rose wasn't sure how she would adapt to was the strict prohibition of magic.

The train began to slow once more, and although Rose could see little indication of civilisation she reckoned from the time the next stop would be Tisbury, and so she made her way to the end of the carriage, dodging the outstretched limbs of various other passengers as she went, where she removed her two burdensome large suitcases from their storage compartment. It had been an absolute nightmare to hoist them up and down the flights of steps when changing platforms at Clapham Junction, so much so that she attended to them one at a time: the slow progress of which had made Rose think she might miss her train. Grateful (for once) for her mother's compulsive organisation, who has insisted that Rose arrive at the station at least half an hour before her train was due to depart, she boarded with much time to spare, yet utterly exhausted. The lengthy journey had facilitated her recovery to some degree, but she was by no means prepared for the stint of alighting.

A number of houses began to line the tracks as the train slowed further, Rose observed from the windows of the train doors, having dragged her luggage out of the carriage and towards the nearest exit. When the tannoy pronounced that the next station would indeed be Tisbury, she was somewhat relieved for her journeying toil to be almost at an end, yet altogether anxious about what her year in remote countryside might present.

The doors opened to let in the stale heat of West Country air, and Rose stepped out twice into the blue-skied Dorset day – removing her suitcases from the train one at a time. She thought, absentmindedly, how pleasant it would have been for Victorian-esque station porters or kindly young gentlemen to assist her with her vast luggage. As the train began to pull away, she hauled her suitcases through the gap in the station wall into the car park, where her taxi (or so she presumed, since there had been nobody else alighting at that station) was waiting. There were no ticket barriers to go through, nor had there visibly been at the previous station, and it struck Rose that country folk must be typically either very honest or very stupid. Or perhaps a mixture of both, but in any case she reasoned they must incredibly trusting.

The taxi driver, upon seeing her struggling to control her disobedient baggage, hastened to help Rose. With ease that made her consciously aware of her strength – or rather lack of it – he lifted the bags into the back of his vehicle, and began enquiring as to the pleasantness of Rose's journey and which gatehouse of Mattendar – which were imaginatively named North Lodge and South Lodge – would it please the young lady for him to drive through. Unaware that Mattendar House even had a gatehouse, let alone two, Rose decided upon the South Lodge; to which the driver remarked 'an excellent choice'. And half an hour later, Rose saw why.

The majority of the journey had been through English countryside as it is often romanticised in novels; she now understood why the hills were described as rolling, the green pastures eternal and the streams trickling, and all this climaxed when the car drew underneath the stone arches that professed to be the South Lodge of the Mattendar estate. The wide rustic drive was lined with age-old trees on each side, and gradually bore to the left in a circular course as the ground began to rise, at which point the road divided. The right channel, as advertised by the uncharacteristically spotless white sign, led off to the Mattendar golf club, whilst the main drive continued to bear round the ridge and straighten on approach to the school. In the valley to the left of the ridge, a great expanse of forest stretched up to a tranquil lake, and the swathe of grass in between was populated by a number of sheep. As the taxi rattled over the cattle grids (which seemed to be no deterrent to the sheep whatsoever, for even more occupied the other side), Rose looked ahead to glimpse her first view of her home for the ensuing year.

Cloaked diffusely by trees, the easterly face of the great manor protruded, a mass of grey stone that seemed to draw more on practicality than aesthetics. The building was surrounded on all sides in view by a five-foot deep empty moat, the grass sloping down into a nettle filled ditch only to rise up on the school-side in the form of a brick wall nestled into the verge. To the right of the building, beside the scores of rugby-pitches yet un-devoured by unseasoned studs, stood an eighteen-pillared stone temple accompanied by a lone tree, great in stature, its trunk wider than the taxi. Rose stared, caught somewhere between shock and amazement, flailing to comprehend this indeed would be her home for quite some time. The car drew around to the front of Mattendar House, gravel crunching softly beneath its tyres, and stopped beside the archaic stone entrance supported by two smooth marble pillars. The driver raised the two now mediocre-looking suitcases up the steps and through the two large green doors and, once paid, duly bid Rose farewell and left her engrossed in the grandiose décor of the front hall.

The oak-panelled reception area was rather sizeable, expanding on one side past the great arched window to the large stone fireplace on the far right, unlit for the summer heat but with triangular stacks of logs piled either side. The left wall gaped a few feet ahead of Rose, giving way to an intricately crafted wood doorway that was almost as deep as it was wide, then continued to stretch on into the distance towards a large painting of a young family mounted on the far wall. The magnificently high ceiling did much to generate a freshness, as did the peculiar shape of the reception space that seemed almost open-plan, for the far wall dropped away into another great hall whose superior importance to the foyer was indicated by the wide wooden staircase that curved around to face directly down the south-facing expanse. Absorbed in the serene tranquillity, Rose had not noticed the figure stretched out upon one of the two large sofas adjacent to the fireplace.

"It's magnificent, isn't it?" he said, removing his legs from the mahogany coffee table and rising to meet her, his chalky Australian accent resonating around the room. Bright blonde hair was the first feature of his Rose noticed as he turned to face her, followed by his fine chiselled jawline and pursed lips that broadened into a wide grin, as if to declare his nature was somewhat mischievous. Rose smiled back as her gaze rose to meet his blue-grey eyes. The lanky man extended his hand formally. "Sammick," he uttered as she took his hand in a firm embrace. "Most girls call me Sam."

"Rose."

"My," Sam said as he withdrew his hand, shaking it jestingly as if she had crushed it. "You have a fine hand-shake, Miss Rose."

"So I have been told." She smiled reassuringly. "Are you-?"

"Gap student. An Aussie, although that I suppose you may have guessed. From the way you looked about, I should think you're in the same boat as me, though this is rather closer to home, I suspect."

"It certainly doesn't feel like it. Londoner, born and bred."

"Ah," he said, disapprovingly, lips pursed tight once more. "My ancestors were Londoners. Emigrated after the Blitz. Have to keep that bit of trivia rather hushed up." Sam's disdainful expression swiftly altered to one of banal amusement. "I believe we're the first to arrive, although the others should be along shortly."

"The others?" Rose questioned.

"There are four of us. Gap students, that is. Or so I've been told." He paused. "The headmaster seems like a swell guy."

"You've met him already?"

"Oh yes. Hence the lack of bags." He opened his arms wide in gesture. "C'mon, I'll show you to our rooms."

Sam made for one of the suitcases and began to wheel it towards the sweeping oak staircase, then promptly lifted it up the first few steps. Rose followed suit. It transpired that there were indeed two subsequent flights of stairs to ascend, since the flat reserved for gap year students was located on the second floor, amongst the dormitories of the junior boys' boarding house. Sam directed her through square landings, complete with oak panels similar to those on the ground floor, and eventually up a couple more steps until an aged wooden door was reached, above which a bronze plaque proclaimed this was the entrance to 'Guards'.

The door was unlocked, which Rose would discover was much the custom in an establishment of this kind, and Sam pressed on through, until he drew the suitcase upright in the hallway. Guards wasn't so much a flat as a series of connected dormitories, four to be precise, with a bathroom shared between them in addition to a kitchenette, only large enough to accommodate a fridge with a microwave on top, topped itself by a kettle and a toaster, with an aluminium sink to the side.

"I've taken the room to the right," Sam said, directing Rose's attention away from the made-shift kitchen. "It isn't the largest room, but the view is wonderful. I haven't unpacked yet so you're welcome to it if you want, but given the weight of your luggage I suspect you're looking for something slightly bigger." The room Sam had taken was barley large enough for the double bed within it, let alone the desk and wardrobe, however he was quite correct in so far as it had a lovely view of the front lawn and the forest beyond. The room beside it was not much larger, but having explored the other unoccupied rooms Rose decided that it was the largest, so despite compromising on the view – with only a stamp-like window beside the bed – she opted to take it.

Sam withdrew from her room, having chivalrously wheeled in both of Rose's suitcases to the foot of her bed, leaving her undisturbed so that she might unpack. She opened her larger suitcase, lifted everything that was necessary to make her bed, and set about doing so. Once the creases in her duvet had been smoothed out, she set about arranging her textbooks and novels upon the marble ledge above the fireplace. Her literature was an odd mix, ranging from rudimentary physics books and volumes on pluralistic superstring theory to numerous accounts of world history ranging from Rome and the second Afghan war, right through to the Cuban missile crisis and third-wave feminism. If she was to do without magic whilst here, she reasoned it would be best not to bring any books that would make her yearn for it. Aside from those she needed for her NEWTs, that is.

Frustratingly there was nowhere to hang the majority of her clothes, since the wardrobe was a relatively tiny affair, so Rose folded her more wintery attire into one suitcase, and slid it cleanly underneath her bed. She retained her summer dresses and miscellaneous clothing to be rather more accessible, dividing them between the wardrobe and chest at the foot of her bed. When she eventually finished renovating the room with her assortments, she collapsed upon the bed in relief.

The room wasn't so positively repugnant, she decided after a time. Though it was somewhat disappointing following the grand impression the panelled entrance had made, it was adequate albeit rather dim. It certainly wasn't like the dormitories at Hogwarts, but it would do. And had it not been for such a distasteful choice in curtains and the yellowing walls, Rose might have even been half inclined to like it. She sighed.

Movement.

Rose's eyes darted toward the door, just in time to observe the door open a crack as a shadow drifted past in the corridor, which subsequently burst into light. The figure moved back into sight before disappearing from view again, then packed back a few steps to hover in the doorway and gazed at her through the darkness.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he started, moving the door ajar slightly more. "I didn't see you there." It was little wonder, Rose thought; only then realising she had neglected to turn on the light in her own room. "You don't mind, do you? Only, it gets awfully dark in here." His voice was sleek and truly English, reverberating with wisps of tradition and elegance that it would be impossible to impersonate.

"Not at all," Rose said somewhat unconvincingly, swinging her legs off the bed and standing to greet him. "You can come in, if you want."

"Oh, thank you," he replied swiftly, as if he had been waiting for the invitation, yet he looked rather on edge. "Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy."

"Rose Granger-Weasley."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he muttered, without a hint of irony.

Silence.

She raised her eyes only to find deep, engaging eyes gazing back at her, impossible to look away from, dirty green interrupted by strands of grey.

"Where-"

"Are you-" Scorpius began, simultaneously to Rose. They both emitted a hushed nasal laugh, disguised as sharp exhalation of breath, and smiled. "As you were," he muttered courteously.

"I take it you're another gap student."

"Actually no," he said, drawing his fingers back through his white-blonde hair. "I work here. Not that you aren't," he added quickly, "Only I am permanently. Well permanently is not precisely the right expression, I haven't been here all summer. What I meant to say is, I am a teacher."

"Oh right." Rose hastened to reply. He continued to look on edge, and though he was young, Rose realised he was not as young as her. He had that aged look, not old, but as if he was brimming with knowledge, a mature stature that only presented itself once confidence had been gained in mastering some skill.

"I'm afraid that I am being a rather poor example of the school in performing my errands so unproductively. Fortunately term doesn't really begin properly until tomorrow afternoon when the boarders arrive, but all the same I must apologise; I was instructed to summon the gap year students to the headmaster's study for their induction."

"Oh, I didn't realise the others had arrived."

"So it would seem." He nodded, and then promptly turned to exit the room. He spun around to face her once again. "It was lovely to meet you. I'm certain I will see you around, it is a rather small world down here." He smiled reassuringly, then ducked out of the gaping door, drawing it to with his sudden displacement of air so that it was left barley ajar.

Rose backed away from where she had been standing and slumped down on her bed, still somewhat bemused by the man's awkward mannerisms. So she had been summoned to the headmaster's study. Rose chuckled to herself, amused at the irony of prospectively conducing a pre-induction quest to find the room itself. She was shaken from her mirth by the door swinging open.

"I almost forgot," Scorpius said hurriedly as his head poked audaciously through the crack, the remainder of his slanting body being propped up by his outstretched hands; one on the doorframe, the other on the handle. "I neglected to mention where the headmaster's study is."

He escorted Rose down the wide wooden staircase that Sam had earlier carried her suitcase up, and through the long wood-panelled hallway without uttering a word, that was until they came to the French windows at the very end, which overlooked the meadows and forests of the estate. Scorpius abruptly turned to face her.

"It's that room, to the right," he said, indicating to the room on his left. The ease with which he said it made Rose wonder if he'd trained for the theatre, but she dismissed this notion on account of his age. More likely he had attended a school renowned for its plays, and there picked up the concepts of 'stage left' and 'stage right'.

"Thank you," Rose muttered.

"The doorknob turns anticlockwise." Scorpius nodded sharply, a curt smile upon his lips. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the sign of endearment vanished and he began to walk back down the hall, footsteps echoing in his wake.

* * *

 **AN/ Please please please let me know what you think! Any feedback - good or bad - really is appreciated!**


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